J. Jance - Trial By Fire

“Did you?”

“Yes, of course I did, but the guy I talked to wasn’t very sympathetic. He kept hinting around that maybe Mimi had left on her own because I was some kind of heavy-handed bozo. Stuff like, was it possible that Mimi had taken off because I was giving her too hard a time? He made it sound like maybe she was the victim of domestic violence or something. That made me mad as hell. I finally hung up on the guy. After I got off the phone with him, I started calling hospitals-every single hospital here in the Valley, including this one, but they all told me the same thing. None of them had a patient named Mimi Cooper.

“Making those calls took the better part of an hour. About the time I finished was when I finally noticed that the painting was gone. I doubt it was stolen because, as far as I can tell, nothing else is missing. Still, I thought I should call the cops back and let them know about it, just in case it had been stolen.”

“Did you?” Sister Anselm asked.

“Yes, but that time the jerk detective I had spoken to earlier was busy or on a break or something. I ended up talking to someone else, a woman. She took down the information about the painting. She also seemed to really listen to everything I said. She’s the one who mentioned the incident in Camp Verde last night. Once I heard that an unidentified, critically injured woman had been brought here from the fire, it was like an alarm went off in my heart. I’m sure it’s Mimi. It has to be.”

“Does your wife have any connection to Camp Verde?” Sister Anselm asked.

“None at all,” Hal answered decisively. “As far as I know she’s never set foot in the place, and why on earth would she go there at night? She hates going out at night, even when I’m driving, because the glare from the headlights bothers her eyes. Even so, I have a feeling this has to be her. Now please let me see her.”

Sister Anselm leaned over and placed a quieting hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re anxious and upset right now, and I don’t blame you. This woman may well turn out to be your wife, but she’s asleep right now. You can’t see her.”

“Couldn’t I look in on her even if she’s asleep?” Hal argued. “I promise I won’t be a bother. If it’s not Mimi, I’ll just walk away, and if it is…”

His voice faded into silence. He sat there shaking his head as he contemplated two appalling alternatives.

Patiently Sister Anselm explained the realities of the HIPAA regulations, including the fact that only visitors expressly authorized by the patient would be allowed access. These rules were clearly news to Hal Cooper, and, just as clearly, Sister Anselm had no intention of bending them.

“What can you tell me about your wife?” Sister Anselm’s question gently but firmly changed the subject. “How old is she?”

“Seventy-one, but she doesn’t look a day over sixty,” Hal declared. “Some people might say she’s frail, but she’s not. She’s tiny. Size six.”

“Does she have any distinguishing features?”

“When cops ask that question, they’re usually asking about scars or tattoos-that kind of thing,” Hal said. “Believe me, Mimi wouldn’t have a tattoo if her life depended on it, but she does have a mole on her left shoulder-on the back of her left shoulder.”

Ali noted the small frown that flitted briefly across Sister Anselm’s face, as though the presence of the mole said something to her-something important. While the nun said nothing, Hal rushed on.

“Dental records?” Sister Anselm asked.

“I can get those for you with no problem. Her dentist is in Scottsdale. Mimi’s had a couple of implants, but they’re mostly her own teeth.”

“Could you tell what clothing she might have been wearing?”

“No. She has three closets full of clothing. No way for me to tell that. But I do know about her jewelry. She had two diamond rings, one on each hand. The big one she called her no-divorce ring, or else her no-promises-kept ring. That’s Mimi’s sense of humor, by the way. That one is a two-carat rock. She was thinking about divorcing her first husband. Before she had a chance to call it quits, he died on her. She told me she made out far better as a widow than she would have as a divorcée. The other one, the smaller one, is the one I gave her a year ago when we got married.”

Hal broke off. His lips trembled. He cleared his throat and pawed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “A year next Tuesday,” he added. “We got married in San Francisco at a park overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. With the surgery coming up, I figured we’d take an anniversary trip back there after she’d had a chance to recover.”

Ali had noticed that in the beginning James’s family members had tuned in and listened avidly to what Hal Cooper had to say. Now, though, losing interest in someone else’s drama, they were back to focusing on their own issues and squabbling among themselves. As Hal paused momentarily to regain control, Ali’s fingers sped over the keyboard, catching up with the last of both Sister Anselm’s questions and Hal’s answers.

Thank you, Miss Willis, she thought.

Miss Augusta Willis had been Ali’s typing teacher at Cottonwood’s Mingus Union High, where, during her junior year, Ali had been one of only two students to achieve the coveted seventy-five words per minute that made for an A in Typing II.

“Where did you say you live?” Sister Anselm asked.

“Fountain Hills. Northeast of Scottsdale. It’s a very safe neighborhood. At least it’s supposed to be safe. That’s what the Realtor told us when we bought the place.”

“There was no sign of a break-in?”

“No,” Hal said. “No forced entry. Nothing like that.”

“Do you have an alarm?”

“We have one, but Mimi doesn’t like turning it on. A couple of times the alarm got tripped by accident. That turned into a big hassle.”

“But if the painting was valuable-” Sister Anselm began.

“I’m really not worried about the painting,” he interrupted. “It’s a watercolor, but it’s ugly as all get-out. It looks like one of my grandmother’s old patchwork quilts. Donna didn’t know if Mimi had decided to sell it. Or if she knows, she wouldn’t say. For all I know, Serenity may have already located a buyer, not that she’d tell me about it. As far as she’s concerned, her mother’s art collection is none of my business.”

“I take it you and Mimi’s daughter don’t get along very well,” Sister Anselm concluded.

“With Serenity? Are you kidding? Except for Donna, her P.A., no one gets along with Serenity. She doesn’t get along with me, not with her brother, and not with her mother, either. Especially not her mother. Her dearly departed daddy could do no wrong, but everyone else comes up short in her book. At the time we got married, Mimi worried that the kids might be a problem. I thought, How bad could it be? Turns out Mimi was right. Serenity has been badmouthing me to anyone who will listen. Despite her name, she specializes in creating discord.”

So Mimi Cooper’s relatives aren’t that much different from James’s, Ali thought.

“The name on Serenity’s birth certificate is listed as Sandra Jean,” Hal continued. “With her father’s approval and help, she went to court and changed it on the day she turned eighteen. Why wouldn’t she? Anything that came from her mother, including her name, is automatically suspect. I’ve mostly tried to stay out of her way and not rock the boat. I thought long and hard before I called her to lend a hand while I was gone this last time, but with the surgery coming up and since Mimi’s her mother…” He shrugged and sighed. “That’s what I did-I called.”

“You didn’t call her son?” Sister Anselm asked.